


The Redemption Project

by glassglassglassmadeofclass



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassglassglassmadeofclass/pseuds/glassglassglassmadeofclass
Summary: A year after the gods return to Earth C to live out their lives, many of the people that perished during both sessions of SGRUB reappear, alive and at the same age they were at death. The group at large would rather forget about the more problematic figures, leaving them in the dust to figure out their own issues with no help. But Rose, ever eager to prove herself as a psychologist, sees a chance to finally help fix someone.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. Party Planning

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that Gamzee didn't exactly get revived. He kinda just...............showed up one day.  
> Kanaya and Rose are 17 here, as are the rest of the people that went through the door with them at the end of Homestuck. Vriska is still 16, and Eridan is 13.

Rose, after several hours of having handwritten personalized invites in neat cursive, finally set her quill down as her hand numbly fell to her side in one fell swoop. If one had paid closer attention, they might have even been able to smell the metaphorical smoke coming off the quill, her wrist and hand so tightly overworked that she could barely wave it off without a few pangs of radiating pain. Even a goddess had her physical limits, and doing _that_ nonstop for two hours was definitely one of them.

"Kanaya, darling," she called, sitting upright stiffly and pretending as if all that writing hadn't thoroughly exhausted her for the sole purpose of impressing the troll. "I finished the invites. How is your half of the planning coming along, dear?"

Kanaya looked up, her hair tied up in a tight bun as she gracefully prepared baked goods. Beside her sat an open notebook, chock full of recipes, and lended to her by none other than Jane Crocker herself. "I just need to put these away in the oven. I never knew how...sugar packed human confections and pastries were."

Rose shot her a sarcastic glance, a mirthful glint shining in her eye. "Didn't your planet have literal psychedelic drug soda as a regular thing?"

The jadeblood tilted her head to the side, giving a sideways glance at nothing in particular and blushing embarrassedly as she gently lifted the pan up. "I suppose that's fair, but that was for the clowns, mostly. As for the rest of us, we preferred meats and proteins on a regular basis. I suppose purples never needed that, given how horribly large and strong they seemed to naturally grow anyhow."

She reached over to pull open the oven, quickly slamming the pan of cookies inside before whirling back and slamming the oven shut with her hip.

"The oven's not going to slam on you and trap you inside, Kanaya." Rose slid the neatly sealed letters on top of one another until they sat in a stack. "And what a shame, you never hip bump _me_ like that."

"It never hurts to be cautious, Lalonde." Kanaya gingerly took a wash cloth, wringing her hands off as she strolled over to Rose's side, giving out a confused little insectoid chitter from the back of her throat as she scanned over the invites. "There are more there than I would have come to expect."

Rose bit down on her lip, messying her lipstick a tad as she slid the letter stack over to her. "Oh, just a few new acquaintances, that's all."

The troll, upon realizing her wife's suspicious behavior, shoved a hand between Rose's hands and the letters, snatching up the stack and flipping through as Rose sighed emphatically.

"Vriska? Eridan? _Gamzee?"_

Rose yanked the letters out of Kanaya's hands, holding them close against her chest protectively as if it were a small child instead of a bundle of lavender-colored papers. "Listen-- I know you're not the most enthusiastic about those three--"

"Rose, that's the biggest understatement of the sweep."

"But they can learn to change. Most of us did. Besides, they all got revived at their original ages. Eridan's still 13."

"I don't care if he's 6 sweeps or human 45, he's still going to be terrible. And inviting Vriska and Tavros to the same party? Really?"

"Oh, Kanaya, it'll be fine."

"Despite the fact that not only are you inviting threw unreformed Alternian highbloods to our human "holiday fusion" party, you're inviting specifically the three I despise?"

Rose, ever in tune with her wife's emotions, placed a hand over Kanaya's. "I wouldn't do anything like this if I thought you could get hurt from it. What I want to try and do here is redeem those who were left in the dust. And that begins with including them and talking to them like they're normal people and NOT psychotic alien murderers. You could ignore them for the whole party for all I care-- but please, Kanaya. I know you take a lot for me already but please just bear with me here."

Kanaya took a deep breath, closing her eyes and sighing. "If you really think this will work, Rose..."

"Oh, I know it will."

"Fine. Why are you so invested in this?"

"Well, to be frank," Rose scooped the letters into her arms, holding them tightly against her once more. "The Alternian highbloods psyche fascinates me, given what you've told me in the past. They were so conditioned to expect their entire lives handed to them on a silver platter based on the basis of their birth that the minute things got tough or the minute things went wrong for them they snapped and lashed out, seemingly. For Eridan and Gamzee, at least. Vriska seems like a whole other basket case, and rooting through what's up in her mind will be quite the daunting task. Add that with my seemingly unrequited urge to do something with my interest in psychology and, well..."

Kanaya watched with a frown as Rose trotted to the front door, pushing it open with a grunt before turning to face the jadeblood once again.

"I think that maybe, just maybe, this will be entertaining to see."


	2. The Invite

In the Strider household, all was typically the polar opposite of calm. Dave awoke to the sweet, angelic sounds of enraged shrieking, things falling down, and metal clanging. It was a cool morning, as one could expect from the near end of December, and Dave's thick red sheets did little to protect him from the cold. It was at times like this that, for how annoying the heat could get at times, he truly missed Texas.

The bed creaked ominously under him as he got up, pressing his classic Strider shades on to his face before leaning too far forward and and falling flat on his face with an unceremonious thunk. A lesser man would groan, but Dave was no lesser man as he stood and brushed himself off.

The door, scarred and marred by a solid year of mischief and hijinks, made a noise akin to a gear snapping as it opened, damn near ready to completely collapse off it's hinges. The carpet below him hadn't been vacuumed for months, stiff with dirt and grime.

"Damn, this place got fuckin narsty, huh?"

From down the hall, echoing from the kitchen, embarked more angered yells. Dave sighed, hands landing neatly in his boxer pockets as he peeked into the other rooms in the home.

A few things immediately came to his vision: a bowl of cereal, soggy and left abandoned and scattered on the carpet; a pair of cracked reading classes; a snapped katana; and the best TV in the whole apartment, smashed with a sickle left jutting out of it's screen.

Dave could also see, from the cutout window showing into the kitchen, Karkat and Dirk, weapons drawn, and damn near at each other's throats. Karkat, ever the enraged gerbil, hissed something incomprehensible at Dirk in Alternian.

"Yooo, alright." Dave held his hands up defensively as he stepped over to the two, finally coming close enough to shove them away from one another. "Let's not have the two most important people in my life fatally fuckin murder one another, capiche?"

Nigh immediately, Karkat's squeaky, perpetually whiny voice chimed in. "Motherfucker knocked into me when he was doing his bullshit human ninja garbage!"

"Maybe if you weren't eating cereal in the middle of the living room, and were sitting down somewhere, we wouldn't be having this issue."

"YOU ALSO STEPPED ON MY READING GLASSES!"

"You broke one of my katanas with your bare fucking hands, dude. You're still bleeding from doing that, by the way."

Both Dave and Karkat stared down at Karkat's mutilated hand, thick gobs of cherry red blood staining the hilt of Karkat's sickle and dribbling down on to his pants and the floor. "oH FUCKING-- GOD DAMN IT! I'VE BEEN GUSHING HARDER THAN AN IMPALED SQUIRTGRUB AND YOU ONLY THOUGHT TO TELL ME FUCKING NOW?"

"One, I'd thought you would've noticed, it being an incredibly painful laceration and all. Two," As Dirk spoke, Dave dragged the red blood over to the sink, putting his destroyed palm under the tap whilst the troll hissed and snapped in pain. "I ain't your babysitter. You're my son-brother-father's boyfriend, not my kid. And you were up and ready to slice my jugular open. This isn't anyone's fault but your own, really."

"I WILL FUCKING DEVOUR THOSE SHITTY PLASTIC BEETLE SHELLS YOU KEEP CALLING SHADES."

"I hate to rain on your kismesis parade--" Both young men at once vocally opposed that statement with only the finest of disgust. "But if you keep telling like that you'll wake up kanker sore. And ain't nobody wanna wake up kanker sore."

They were, of course, referring to Kankri, Karkat's ever beloved dancestor. The man had a penchant for preaching more than the pope, going on for hours about topics he both barely knew anything about and spoke over actual expects in that topic over. To say he was a verbal hemmroid was to be making a vast understatement. Nobody wanted to be around him when he got particularly fired up. That's not to say that his values were bad, because really, they weren't-- his heart was, truly, in the right place. It was that he constantly spoke over actual marginalized people as though he knew their struggles and as if he had an authority on the topics he spoke about, all for the wake of feeling like he was contributing something to an equality movement at all, which, of course, he is wasn't.

"Oh Jesus Christ, don't fucking remind me he exists, please!" Even Karkat's tantrums, which were things myths were born from, backed down at the thought of provoking the older Vantas.

Dirk bent down to pick up the ruined halves of his once only minimally shitty katana. "Why do you even keep the guy around if you hate him so much?'

"I feel kinda bad for the asshole. I don't think anyone wants him to stay with them, and like hell his argumentative ass could keep a job for more than five seconds without getting into a screaming match with a co-worker."

"He could go chill with the Maryams. Doesn't that Porrim chick baby him and shit?"

"Yeah, I guess he could go there, but Porrim straight up dotes on him harder than a lusus and he hates it."

"Besides," Dave interjected, folding his arms and leaning against the counter. "I doubt Rose and Kan could stand him either, despite how much those two love to babble. Or, uh, Rose at least."

Karkat, gritting his teeth, gently wrapped a rag around the slice on his palm. Blood had already began to stain it, leaking down and dribbling down his wrist. "So you asshole sneezes see why I keep him around now? It's not like anyone else is gonna keep him in. Now, where were we?"

Karkat, ever eager to scream, whirled around to face Dirk, who, in return, slouched and groaned in anticipation. "APOLOGIZE."

"I'm sorry you stood in the middle of the living room with a large bowl of food like a fuckin' moron."

"YOU--"

Already, the mood in the room had once more taken a nose dive to being tense and volcanic. Dave had already had his filling of crab-laden temper tantrums for the day, so with a tired sigh and a turn of his heel, he headed for the front door, dressed in nothing but his crab boxers.

...which was a decision he'd immediately regret. As stated before, that morning had been a chill one, as one would expect of winter. Dave's breath could be seen in front of him in cloudy bursts every time he exhaled, wrapping his arms around himself tighter than anyone had ever hugged him before. "Oh my fucking god."

The sky was clouded, grey clouds swirling above him in a disquieting manner, a frozen draft blowing around the grass and what little leaves were left on the skeletal branches of long-dormant trees. Even the stone path that lead to his mailbox felt frozen and somber under him as he walked along to check for any new mail. He'd never learned how those flappy mailbox thingies worked...

Much like most openable objects around the Strider residence, the mailbox opened with a screamy creak, not too unlike Karkat's voice. The inside was dark and dusty, punctuated by it's forlorn, constant emptyness. Not many landlords and governments wanted to send bills and taxes to the literal creators of the universe. It just seemed rude, nevermind the implied terror of divine retribution. 

Dave was set to simply close the mailbox and go inside to maybe sleep through a classic Karkatantrum, before the litter patter of tiny, rushed footsteps fell upon his ears. With a turn of his head, a short little carapacian came into view, donned in a traditional American postal service uniform. Except America didn't exist anymore, thank God, it was just a thing the postal service liked to wear. Something about a time traveling American mailperson of legend.

As they drew closer, one would come to realize that they bore a Stark resemblance to the mayor of Cantown, which was just a small drive up the road. A resemblance which served to bring a smile to Dave's usually nonchalant face as he knelt down to greet the wobbling little Dersite, opening his palm for whatever they might have been bringing to him. "What's good, little dude?"

The carapacian gave a short bow, a nervous swear crested on their shelly brow. They kept silent, as a lot of them preferred to do, shoving a neat little lavender letter into Dave's hand.

TO: David Elizabeth Strider  
FROM: Rosanne Mary Lalonde-Maryam & Kanaya Vanpés Lalonde-Maryam  
432 Coykauf Rd, Neo Cape May, New New Jersey

"Fuckin' neo this, neo that. Ain't that right, Myshell?" And so the Carapacian's name was revealed. Dave placed a few fatherly pats upon their head before tearing the letter open animalistically. "We really shouldn't have let Dirk name shit back when we set stuff up."

Just as the Dersite began to dawdle off, Dave called them back with a wave of his hand. "You wanna hear the funniest shit in the known universe?"

He cleared his throat, putting on the hoity-toitiest, most faux fancy voice he could muster. "Darling Strider, you are henceforth invited to a holiday mix party on December 28th. Come in your finest clothes, and bring a dish if you please. The party begins at midnight sharp. Yours truly, Rose Lalonde-Maryam and Kanaya Lalonde-Maryam. You know where to find us, homo. You've been to our home several times before. We expect you to not be late."

The carapacian did nothing but stare on, hands folded against their lap and trembling. "Now you've heard a god imitate his sister in his underwear. Aight, you can scram now."

The Dersite didn't hesitate to go, raising their leg up cartoonishly before dashing off, trekking up thick clouds of dust and dirt behind them as they ran.

"...wonder where I put my suit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Dave says they put Dirk in charge of naming shit, I meant back when they just did the ectobiology before time traveling 5000 years.


	3. The One With Actual Vriska

Night time was probably the worst during that December, if you were referring to the temperature. The winds outside were harsh and unbearable, cutting against people's cheeks like a sharpened knife. Opening your eyes in the direction it was blowing for more than five seconds was an open invite to a tidal wave of tears cropping up in your eyes, blinding you and making you yelp.

That was, of course, if you weren't already blind.

Terezi approached Vriska's behemoth hive, crocs sinking into just-laid snow and five bags of grease-ridden food clutched tightly in her left hand. The lights in the hive were off, blank panes melding in with a near pitch black night sky, save for one at the very bottom. The only sign that someone actually lived there.

The door slid open surprisingly easy, considering someone like the Serket. No booby traps, no ominous creaking, no deadbolts or even a knife in your face. It just pulled open, and that was all.

The entrance hall was warmer than the outside, sure, but it had the same chill to it in some way. The floor, once vibrant cerulean and teal tiles, were filled, unwaxed, dust piling up around and shuffled around old footsteps. The only light came from the next room over, the soft, pulsating glow of a TV.

"YO, VRIS." She yelled into the living room, strolling in and tossing the bags over to a behemoth pile of blankets. They landed with a resolute thud against something buried under all of it, which shifted and groaned. "I got your burgs, wake the fuck up."

With a couple more shuffles, out popped the head of Vriska, hair fluffed and glasses askew on the bridge of her nose. Her mouth curled into a grit grimace, fangs shining in the neon light of the TV. "Ya coulda knocked, you know."

"Yeah, but that wouldn't be as funny." The tealblood plopped beside her cooly, dragging two of the bags of food over to herself before setting them down upon the coffee table. 

"You didn't even get fuckin' drinks?"

"Vris, it's my goddamn money."

"Oh, whatever. Thanks, I guess." Vriska just fucking ripped open the bag, desperately grasping up the wrapped-up burgers which fell on to the couch in front of her, like a hungry school child who just busted open a pinata. "Holy shit! You even got them to hold the onions."

"If I didn't, you'd yell at me!" Terezi rebutted, leaning back and folding her arms. The cerulean cast her a sideways glance, burger hovering inches away from her mouth before she tossed it away. Legit, it did an arc and slammed against the wall, leaving a greasy skid marks as it slid down.

"Tez, you good?" What little sympathy could ever be heard in Vriska's rambunctious tone shone through, if only rarely and if only for Terezi.

"Whaddya mean? I'm fine."

"Well, like," Vriska inched closer, breath hot against Terezi's still frozen feeling face. "You're not as, like, screamy and-- you're just not acting like Terezi lately, yannow?"

Though her eyes didn't work, Terezi still lidded them, crossing her arms and turning to Vriska with a smirk. "What's Terezi normally like, then?"

"Hell, dude, you're like your own emotion! You're always just jumpy and wild and always yelling. I always loved that about you."

The word loved rang through Terezi's ears, panging through her chest in a warm way that she couldn't describe. It was a way that Vriska's words, her voice, only ever made her feel. "Maybe I just feel a little mellow today, you ever think about that?" She didn't mean for her words to come out as sharpened as that, but she couldn't help it.

"Jeez, man, don't get bitchy."

Terezi groaned, slamming her hand on her forehead and letting out a sigh. "Just whatever, alright?"

"Love you, Tez."

There it was again, that warm, comforting feeling fluttering by in her chest like a million doves. A million doves set on fire, that was. The question of platonicy, or lack thereof, flitted back and forth, unsteadiness pinging back and forth in her skull a million times in under a second before she steadied herself, heart thrumming and hammering for a reason that seemed to elude her. What could one do, when a response couldn't be grasped? Simply sit and flounder, let the atmosphere turn awkward and dim like a grasping, corrupting emotional plague? Or do-- oh god, she got something. A distant, fuzzy memory of Dave and Karkat came to mind, filling her with the jovial inspiration to finally play it off cool.

The teal dived over to Vriska with reckless abandon, grasping the other girl by the face and pressing so close up against her that their noses bumped. Only one bold, brash, joking sentence came to mind, rushing out like children to recess.

"Bro. That's gay."

Vriska could do naught but stare in clandestine shock, blinking quickly like she'd just been sprayed in the eyes as her her mouth sat agape. And then came the explosion of laughter, clear and ringing like a barky bell, warmth and humor punctuated with every inhale. "Stop using fuckin' human words, dorkass!!!!!!!"

Both girls collapsed in on themselves, cackles soaring to the sky, limbs entangled and breaths running low. It was at times like these that they truly appreciated the other's company, tears welling in their eyes. Eventually the laughter bled into chuckles, which bled into hurried breaths, until all had calmed like a candle with no more wick to burn. "Oh my god, we gotta make that our new in joke."

"God, fuck yeah, holy shit-- I didn't think it'd be that funny!"

"Well, it sure as hell was, god DAMN dude!"

The two seemed almost to relax better, Terezi nestling her head beside Vriska, perfectly content to sleep right then and there. Until, of course, her nose picked up on something remarkably purple.

"Hey, you didn't tell me I got a letter!" Terezi sprang forward, clutching up a crinkled envelope and peeling out the letter inside. It smelled of nuclear flowers to her, like lavender essential oil held directly under your nose for hours on end.

"First of all, dunkass, that's mine." Vriska plucked the envelope back out of her hands, the harsh scent all but fading from Terezi's freaky nose vision. Terezi's actual invite soon found itself as a replacement in her hands, this time with the envelope ~~unpeeled~~ gone entirely. "Thought the smell would get a lil obnoxious to ya."

"Oh yeah, thanks!" And then Terezi just...licked the entire thing up and down. The ink smeared, neat cursive handwriting ruined and muddled nigh instantaneously, but hey. She got the memo.

"Ahh, shit. I don't think I have anything formal anymore."

"Remember back when we made our flarp costumes?"

Terezi cocked her head. "Yeah, why?"

"We could just do that, but, like, as fancy dresses this time."

"I ain't going in a dress!" Terezi snapped, arms crossed. "I'm making a bomb ass suit and it'll have one of those waist ribbons and coattails."

"How does it feel to be the biggest Chad in all of Paradox Space, Terezi?"

"It feels pretty fuckin good, actually."


End file.
